


A New Arrangement

by PercyByssheShelley



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Fallout Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PercyByssheShelley/pseuds/PercyByssheShelley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'll tell you what,” Manny searched his pockets and produced a small silver key. “It's not like I'll be using my room tonight.”</p>
<p>Chris's first impulse was to give it back to him. It seemed too intimate, too eager to please. But then the easy smile faded from Manny's face, and settled into a blank mask. He didn't have to turn around to know that behind him Ava was making her way up the stairs to her room, with Boone following. </p>
<p>“Thanks,” he said with genuine feeling, slipping the key inside his sleeve. Maybe it was a little weird, but he could definitely empathise with being lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Fallout Kink Meme. 
> 
> Opinions of characters are not necessarily the opinions of the writer.

It was well after sunset when Chris stumbled through the gates of Novac for the first time. He was surprised he had made it at all, with the horror stories he had heard of rampaging Deathclaws and marauding bands of Legion slavers.

He stood in the Courtyard and took stock. The Courier hadn't promised him a bustling metropolis, but he couldn't help feeling disappointed.

There was no sign of any real civilization. No town hall, or library or even a school house. Just a canvas tavern and a row of sad red doors.

He dug through his pockets for the key the woman had given him. At first he had thought she was coming on to him, slipping him the room key and offering to let him stay in her home until he got back on his feet. But the glower of the sniper who accompanied her had broken him of that notion quickly.  
Can't miss it, she'd said. It was the first room on the first floor. 

When he went to put the key in the lock, the handle slid open.

How like her, to stride off into the Wasteland and forget to lock her door behind her. She was pretty enough, but far too scatterbrained and reckless for his tastes. The sniper could keep her. 

It was definitely her room. If he'd had any doubts, the sniper rifle leaned up against the bedhead and the red beret lying on the table removed them.

...

He woke up with the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

"Morning," its owner said nonchalantly. ''Mind telling me what you're doing in my room?"

"I have a key!" Chris shouted, half his attention on the tiny cold circle pressing into his skin, the other half consumed by trying not to empty his bladder in terror. "The girl said I could stay. Ava." 

"Oh, you know Ava?" the man relaxed visibly, and lowered the gun. "Been wondering about her, ever since the ghouls stopped staggering into town."

Chris bit back an insult. Lecturing the man with the gun about anti-ghoul bigotry didn't seem like a good survival strategy.

''Yes, She said I could stay here, first room on the first floor."

"This is the ground floor," the man sauntered over to the table and tapped a cigarette out of the pack. "Ava's one floor up."

''That's the second floor."

"No," the man spoke very slowly. "We are at ground level, therefore we are on the ground floor. Were you raised in a tent or something?"

"A Vault, actually."

Now that the gun was back in its holster, Chris had brain space for other details. Like the fact that he was buck naked in a strange man's bed. “Look Smoo- buddy. Would you mind...” he inclined his head toward his clothes, slung over a chair back, “... giving me a second?”

“If you're looking for privacy, don't go breaking into other people's houses.” The man settled in a chair and blew a smoke ring in his general direction.

Chris sighed and threw off the blankets. So the smoothskin would see him. He shouldn't mind. He was a good looking guy. The Courier had certainly thought so. 

It would help if the man would stop grinning like that. 

He squared his shoulders and walked over to his clothes. He dressed without hurrying, sneaking occasional glances in the other man's direction. Best he could tell, he maintained the same intense stare and infuriating smile the whole time. 

 

Ava staggered back into town a few days later.

Chris had made no effort to organise alternative accommodations. Frankly he had assumed that she would get herself killed before she ever came back to claim her room.

But there she was, sitting at a table in the back of the tent that served Novac as a bar. The sniper was with her, looking as sour as ever.

He slid onto a bar stool and ordered a shot of what they called whiskey in this place.

"Afternoon." drawled Manny, settling onto the seat beside him. He held out his pack of cigarettes.

“Don't smoke," Chris grunted.

“Sorry man. I figured you know... because of the voice.”

Chris shrugged. He had tried talking in his human voice for a few days, but it hurt his throat. ''Nah, that's just..." he didn't want to tell Manny about his delusions. The breaking and entering incident was humiliation enough. "Chicks dig it."

Manny glanced away, a flicker of disappointment on his face.

Chris stared down at his drink. He had never apologised to Manny. The way he saw it it was an honest mistake, and Manny had seemed to enjoy the whole thing. But it made small talk awkward.  
Still, he did his best. The weather. The radio. So, how bout that Legion, huh?

As they talked, Manny kept glancing past him, at the pair in the corner in their stupid matching red berets.

“You know that guy?" Chris said finally, pulling a face.

“Used to," Manny shrugged. “He used to be be my best friend. Then he decided that I did something unpeakable.” He took a long swig of his drink. “And when it turned out I didn't, I guess it was just easier to keep hating me than admit he was wrong."

"That's rough.''

“Worse things have happened. You don't seem so keen on him yourself."

"Yeah, well..." after Manny's revelation, 'he's a fucking cock-block' didn't have the right ring to it. "He just rubs me the wrong way."

When the sunset began to paint the room red, Manny slid off his stool. “Duty calls.”

“I'll walk you over. I need to talk to Cliff Briscoe anyway,” Chris said, following him out and through the gates. 

“Oh yeah? You in the market for a toy dinosaur?”

He chuckled. He had actually bought one on his first day in Novac, because he felt sorry for the man. He had come to suspect that getting people to buy the dinosaurs out of pity was Cliff's primary business strategy. “No, I need to rent a room.”

“Good luck with that. Ava claimed the last one.” 

He stopped in his tracks. “Well, shit.” 

“I'll tell you what,” Manny searched his pockets and produced a small silver key. “It's not like I'll be using my room tonight.”

Chris's first impulse was to give it back to him. It seemed too intimate, too eager to please. But then the easy smile faded from Manny's face, and settled into a blank mask. He didn't have to turn around to know that behind him Ava was making her way up the stairs to her room, with Boone following. 

“Thanks,” he said with genuine feeling, slipping the key inside his sleeve. Maybe it was a little weird, but he could definitely empathise with being lonely. 

 

Chris prided himself on never making the same mistake twice. He was up and fully dressed by the time Manny let himself back into the motel room. 

“Good news,” he said. “I had a chat to Cliff Briscoe, and apparently Bruce is selling his room upstairs. Ava got him a job on the Strip.”

Chris shoved a hand in his pocket. At that moment he was wearing everything he owned and he counted... seventeen caps. “I'm not really in a position to buy at the moment.”

“Oh. Well, no problem. You're welcome to stay here any time you need to. Its nice not having to come back to an empty room.”

He didn't know how to respond to that. An awkward silence dragged on until Manny changed the subject. 

“Want a beer?”

“Its seven in the morning.”

Manny shrugged. “From my perspective its dinner time. Speaking of, are you hungry? I've got an extra brahmin steak.”

Within minutes the steaks were sizzling in the pan, and Manny really did pop open a beer. “It seems like every time Ava strolls into town, Novac gets a little smaller. First Jeannie May, then Boone. Now Bruce is leaving.”

“If she convinces Daisy Whitman to leave we'll be the only ones left in the building.”

“I could live with that.”

Was Manny flirting with him? He was focusing very intently on the steaks, with his back to the table, so Chris couldn't tell. He wasn't great at telling at the best of times. 

“Wait, who is Jeannie May?”

“Nobody,” Manny shot him a serious look over his shoulder. “And if anybody ever tries to tell you what happened to her, don't believe them. Nobody saw anything.”

 

After the Courier inexplicably bought out Cliff's entire stockpile of rocket souvenirs, he was more than happy to rent Chris the storeroom. Once they had manhandled out the Sunset Sarsaparilla machine (who puts a vending machine in a closet?) there was just enough room to convert it into a workshop. He hung out a shingle as a repairman, and while it was a far cry from working on a nuclear reactor or restoring a rocketship, the work was steady and pleasant. 

Ava quickly turned into his favourite customer. Mostly due to her willingness to plop a thousand caps down on his counter without flickering an eyelid. Partially due to the fascinating array of energy weapons she brought in, and the bizarre and unique ways she managed to damage them.

(“Have you been using this laser rifle as a melee weapon?” 

“I ran out of microfusion cells, and a Deathclaw came out of nowhere. What would you have done?”

_“Run away.”_

And then she had laughed, like he was joking.) 

And maybe a tiny bit because every time she and Boone rolled into town it meant that he would have an excuse to crash at Manny's. They had developed a little routine, sharing a drink in the late afternoon, going their separate ways and then rendezvousing for breakfast/dinner in the morning. If they were sleeping together in between, it would have been the longest and most successful relationship of Chris' life. 

Otherwise they saw little of each other, even though they worked in the same building. He had usually returned to 'his' room by the time Manny mounted the steps to begin his night shift, and was firmly ensconced in the workshop by the time he came back down. 

As time went by, Ava's visits to town grew further and further apart, and the rumours of her exploits grew wilder and wilder. And when word began to spread that she had taken up residence in the fabled Lucky 38, Chris accepted that he wouldn't see her again. 

Still, when the little bell above his workshop door jingled, he found himself hoping it would be her. Instead it was Manny, bearing an all too familiar pistol. 

“I was hoping you could take a look at this for me. She just plain won't fire,” he said nervously, laying it down on the workbench.

Chris gave it a cursory inspection. “Well, I think I see the problem. You've removed the firing pin.”

Manny shot him that smile. “So you can fix it?”

“Well, if you give me back the firing pin I could certainly reinsert it for you.”

“Wonderful,” Manny produced it from his back pocket with a flourish. “Let me buy you a drink to celebrate.” 

Chris followed him out, shaking his head. 

Shortly after his second drink, Chris decided that today was the day he was going to kiss him. 

But after his third drink he began to panic. Manny had never actually come right out and said that he was gay. Sure, Chris was 99% certain, but that remaining 1% was a big risk. 

While drinking his fourth drink he considered the fact that Manny was ex-NCR. Those guys weren't well known for their open mindedness. He wasn't just risking rejection, he was risking Manny flipping out and breaking his nose. 

He downed a fifth and sixth while weighing up the evidence. 

First there was the Boone thing. There was a big tick in the gay column. 

And the way that he would look upset for a fraction of a second any time Chris expressed an interest in women. 

Plus he had clearly damaged his own gun so he would have an excuse to talk to him. That went several steps beyond wanting to be friends.

So it was decided. Manny was gay and he was going to kiss him. He had a seventh drink to celebrate. 

And an eighth for courage.

And a ninth to keep the others company. 

He slammed the glass from his tenth drink onto the bar, squared his shoulders and turned purposefully to face his friend. As he leaned forward the room began to spin. 

He woke up feeling like he had been kicked to death. Repeatedly. 

“Morning,” Daisy Whitman said, looking up from her magazine. She was seated in a chair very close to the bed, apparently on watch to prevent him from choking on his own stupidity. 

“Where the hell am I?” he groaned.

“Manny's room. We couldn't get you up the stairs.”

“What happened?”

“My understanding is that you tried to match a Great Khan drink for drink.”

“Is Manny ok?”

Her laugh split his head open. “Manny? Manny left for his shift as sober as the day he was born. A fascinating people, the Khans.” 

Chris slapped a hand over his eyes. “Oh god. He must think I'm an idiot.”

“Actually, I think he was impressed. And I'll tell you what. If he isn't interested anymore, I'll set you up with my son. He's a doctor.”

He rolled over, and immediately regretted it. As he emptied the last of his dutch courage into the bucket Daisy had left by the bed, he reflected that it wasn't a total waste. 

Daisy had definitely just implied that Manny liked him. 

 

“Don't shoot, its just me,” Chris said, poking his head around the door to the dinosaur's mouth. 

“Don't worry, I only get paid to shoot in that direction,” Manny waved a hand toward the Mojave. 

He had brought a pair of ice cold Nuka-Colas, a wildly insufficient apology for making Manny carry his drunk ass home. It occurred to him that it was very unfair that he couldn't remember the experience. He imagined his arm draped across those broad shoulders, Manny's large hand flat against the small of his back to steady him, leaning heavily into the warmth of his chest... he sipped his drink, hoping it was dark enough to conceal the flush climbing his neck. 

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, staring out at the dark wasteland. Eventually Chris screwed his courage to the sticking place and cleared his throat.

“So, I've been thinking-”

“What the hell?” Manny interrupted, staring at something on the horizon. 

Chris's blood ran cold. “Legion?”

“No,” Manny muttered, staring through his scope. “What I wouldn't give for a decent spotlight. I think it's Boone.” 

“So? I know it's been a while, but they do technically live here.”

“No. It's just Boone.” 

Chris could see him now, trudging along the ruined road, wearing fancy new armour and his omnipresent scowl. His shoulders were hunched like he carried a heavy load, but he didn't have a pack on. He wanted to say something flip- it couldn't be that surprising that Ava had tired of his company. But the look of worry on Manny's face made him hold his tongue. 

Boone refused to talk to anyone in town except Manny, and even then he only wanted to discuss resuming his previous role on night shift. Alice McBride made a few attempts to get him to tell her what had happened, and was rewarded with a snarl. 

Eventually Ranger Andy told them that he had heard on the radio that a Forlorn Hope patrol found him lying unconscious in an abandoned bunker.

...

A few days later, Chris was using a pair of tweezers to dislodge a chunk of molerat from the firing mechanism of a .32 pistol when he realised that he was sick of this bullshit.

Not cleaning weapons. That he could cope with.

But dancing around Manny like they were a pair of nervous teenagers. He was Chris fucking Haversam. He was a certified genius. He had rebuilt a pre-war rocket. He was damn good looking, he still had a lot of his hair and every one of his original teeth. He had stood at the right hand of Jason Brightman. The Courier, the Messiah of the Wasteland, totally would have shagged him if that sniper hadn't gotten in the way. 

He sauntered outside and leaned against the warm plastic of the dinosaur, arms crossed. Soon enough he saw Boone exit his motel room and make his way over, his hands jammed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He went inside without acknowledging Chris was there. 

Moments later the door opened. 

“Evening,” Manny said, pausing on the steps to light a cigarette. 

“Evening. So, quick question,” Chris growled, taking a deep breath. “Do you like having sex with strangers?”

“What?” Manny choked on a mouthful of smoke. “No. I can't say that I do.”

“Well,” Chris grinned at him. “Then isn't it lucky that we know each other so well?”

Manny stared at him, his mouth hanging open. Chris braced himself for a punch in the face. 

“Oh God,” Manny said, dissolving into hysterical laughter. “Oh my God.” Within seconds he was the colour of the motel room doors, frantically wiping away tears. “Chris that is... that's worse than the time I saw a recruit... saw a recruit point at a Gommorrah waitress and yell 'You'll do!'” 

He actually doubled over, clutching at his stomach. 

“Right,” Chris said in a tiny voice. Well, it was worth a shot. And hey, there was always Daisy's son. A doctor was nothing to sneeze at. 

Still giggling, Manny walked down the stairs and started towards his room. When he was about five feet away, he looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming, or what?”

 

Above them a door creaked open and then slammed shut. 

“Huh. Ava's back,” Chris said, trying to unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers. 

“Mm-hmm,” Manny muttered against the skin of his neck. He took over, popping the buttons with a practised flick of the wrist. As he pulled it off he let his fingertips trail across Chris' bare back, leaving him shivering. 

There was a thump in the room above, and then the distinctive squeak of the bedsprings. 

“Guess she brought a friend.”

“Shhh,” Manny whispered, his moustache tickling as he kissed the back of his neck

_Oh God_. Ava's voice floated down.

He began to work on his belt, unbuckling it with one hand as the other slowly traced circles across his belly. Chris leaned back against him, feeling his growing excitement. 

_Oh God, yes!_

Once his pants were dealt with, the circles drifted lower. Chris held his breath as his fingertips moved further and further down... and then bypassed his groin entirely to stroke his upper thigh. 

“You impatient?” Manny asked when he sagged slightly.

“Just sick of waiting.”

“Fair enough,” Manny said, and gripped him so tightly that his breath caught. He pushed his hips back against Manny's in appreciation.

_Oh God, Boone!_

He felt Manny stiffen, and not in the good way. His strokes slowed and then stopped. 

“Seriously? You're going to get jealous now?” Chris hissed.

“It's not that,” he dropped a quick kiss onto his shoulder. “Its just that if I'm down here, and Boone is up there... who's in the dinosaur?”

Shit.

“Whats the worst that could happen?”

“We could all be enslaved by the Legion.”

He thought about it for a long time, then sighed. “Fine. Go.”

...

He woke up with his head beneath the pillows. Woke up wasn't really the right word, as he hadn't actually slept, thanks to Them Upstairs. It was more a case of deciding he wasn't going to bother trying to sleep anymore.

It wouldn't have been so bad, if not for their habit of going quiet just long enough for him to start to drift off, then starting up again. Six. Separate. Times. 

As far as he was concerned, the only way that was humanly possible was if there were actually four people up there, tagging in and out. 

...

The click of the door handle made Chris pull himself upright and swing his legs over the edge of the bed. Manny gave him a wan smile, looking as tired as he felt. He stopped to set his rifle down and kick off his boots by the door, and went to pull off his beret.

“Leave that on,” Chris said softly. 

Manny quirked an eyebrow at him, but complied. He crossed the room without hurrying, and it felt like an age until he was there before him, his fingers gripping his shoulders, their lips pressed together. He was gentler than he had expected, sliding his tongue tentatively against Chris' own like he expected that even now, when they had come so far, he would meet with resistance. 

“You look tired,” he said when they broke apart. 

“I am tired. We should get some sleep,” Chris replied, reaching for his belt buckle. 

“Oh, definitely,” Manny said, pulling his shirt off over his head. He readjusted the beret. 

Chris hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pulling both them and his trousers down in one smooth motion. Manny obligingly stepped out of them and kicked them away. 

Chris turned and, with as much dignity as he could muster, spat into the palm of his hand. He wrapped the other hand around the base of his penis, and gently stroked the underside with his thumb. He cupped the head in his lubricated hand and began to roll his hand around in swift, tight circles. With each rotation Manny's hips jerked like he was receiving an electric shock. 

When his breathing grew ragged and his fingers began to dig into his shoulder hard enough to leave bruises, Chris switched his attention to the shaft. Once he had established a good steady rhythm he looked up at Manny, tilting his head beseechingly. The other man leaned down to kiss him, more aggressively this time. Chris quickened his pace in response, which only made Manny kiss him more eagerly. They continued this game of one upmanship, harder, faster, stronger until Manny gave one last jerk of his hips and came with a groan that Chris hoped was loud enough to wake Them Upstairs. 

Manny pushed gently on his shoulders and he let himself fall backward onto the bed, Manny's weight above him. Of all the times he had found himself staring at the ceiling of Manny's motel room, this was definitely his favourite. 

...

Chris propped himself up on his elbow to inspect the broad expanse of Manny's chest. With the tip of a finger he traced a circle around a faded white scar just below his ribs. 

“My initiation,” Manny supplied helpfully. 

“And this one?” he skimmed his fingers down the length of a scar that puckered the skin of his left pec.

“My glorious NCR war wound.”

“Boulder City?”

“No, I tripped over my footlocker during basic training. Landed hard on the edge of Boone's bunk.” He grabbed the hand on his chest, lacing their fingers together. “Speaking of, I ran into Ava and Boone on my way home this morning.”

“Oh yeah? Did you shoot them both?” 

“See, I was going to. But then they made me an interesting offer. They're looking to sell Boone's room. They're trying to sell everything they can so they can buy supplies for the big one at Hoover Dam. They're willing to take next to nothing for it.”

“I told you before that I'm not in a position to buy my own room.”

“You're a liar.” Manny poked him gently in the shoulder. “You've been able to afford a room of your own for about six months now. You've been pretending you can't so you can stay here. Because you like me.”

Chris stared at him open mouthed. “If you've known that long, why didn't you say something?” 

“Because Ava told me that you'd just been through the worst break up in human history and if I tried to take advantage of you- wait let me quote verbatim, I thought this was quite good 'I will cut you from chin to groin and hang you from Dinky's mouth by your ankles.'”

Chris laughed. “Huh. I guess she and Boone are better matched than I thought.”

Manny gave him a confused look, but he declined to explain his meaning. 

“Anyway, I never said that you should buy it. I've been coveting that room ever since the day he chased Ava out of town. If I knock a door in there-” he pointed to the corner where he kept the computer, “then we'd have a pretty decently sized apartment.”

“We'd have an apartment?”

“Well, yeah. The both of us crammed in here isn't going to work, we'd be at each other's throats within a week.”

“You don't think that's moving a bit fast?”

Manny shrugged. “I just think we've waited long enough.”

He couldn't argue with that. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was well after sunset when Chris stumbled through the gates of Novac for the first time. He was surprised he had made it at all, with the horror stories he had heard of rampaging Deathclaws and marauding bands of Legion slavers.

He stood in the Courtyard and took stock. The Courier hadn't promised him a bustling metropolis, but he couldn't help feeling disappointed.

There was no sign of any real civilization. No town hall, or library or even a school house. Just a canvas tavern and a row of sad red doors.

He dug through his pockets for the key the woman had given him. At first he had thought she was coming on to him, slipping him the room key and offering to let him stay in her home until he got back on his feet. But the glower of the sniper who accompanied her had broken him of that notion quickly.  
Can't miss it, she'd said. It was the first room on the first floor. 

When he went to put the key in the lock, the handle slid open.

How like her, to stride off into the Wasteland and forget to lock her door behind her. She was pretty enough, but far too scatterbrained and reckless for his tastes. The sniper could keep her. 

It was definitely her room. If he'd had any doubts, the sniper rifle leaned up against the bedhead and the red beret lying on the table removed them.

...

He woke up with the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

"Morning," its owner said nonchalantly. ''Mind telling me what you're doing in my room?"

"I have a key!" Chris shouted, half his attention on the tiny cold circle pressing into his skin, the other half consumed by trying not to empty his bladder in terror. "The girl said I could stay. Ava." 

"Oh, you know Ava?" the man relaxed visibly, and lowered the gun. "Been wondering about her, ever since the ghouls stopped staggering into town."

Chris bit back an insult. Lecturing the man with the gun about anti-ghoul bigotry didn't seem like a good survival strategy.

''Yes, She said I could stay here, first room on the first floor."

"This is the ground floor," the man sauntered over to the table and tapped a cigarette out of the pack. "Ava's one floor up."

''That's the second floor."

"No," the man spoke very slowly. "We are at ground level, therefore we are on the ground floor. Were you raised in a tent or something?"

"A Vault, actually."

Now that the gun was back in its holster, Chris had brain space for other details. Like the fact that he was buck naked in a strange man's bed. “Look Smoo- buddy. Would you mind...” he inclined his head toward his clothes, slung over a chair back, “... giving me a second?”

“If you're looking for privacy, don't go breaking into other people's houses.” The man settled in a chair and blew a smoke ring in his general direction.

Chris sighed and threw off the blankets. So the smoothskin would see him. He shouldn't mind. He was a good looking guy. The Courier had certainly thought so. 

It would help if the man would stop grinning like that. 

He squared his shoulders and walked over to his clothes. He dressed without hurrying, sneaking occasional glances in the other man's direction. Best he could tell, he maintained the same intense stare and infuriating smile the whole time. 

 

Ava staggered back into town a few days later.

Chris had made no effort to organise alternative accommodations. Frankly he had assumed that she would get herself killed before she ever came back to claim her room.

But there she was, sitting at a table in the back of the tent that served Novac as a bar. The sniper was with her, looking as sour as ever.

He slid onto a bar stool and ordered a shot of what they called whiskey in this place.

"Afternoon." drawled Manny, settling onto the seat beside him. He held out his pack of cigarettes.

“Don't smoke," Chris grunted.

“Sorry man. I figured you know... because of the voice.”

Chris shrugged. He had tried talking in his human voice for a few days, but it hurt his throat. ''Nah, that's just..." he didn't want to tell Manny about his delusions. The breaking and entering incident was humiliation enough. "Chicks dig it."

Manny glanced away, a flicker of disappointment on his face.

Chris stared down at his drink. He had never apologised to Manny. The way he saw it it was an honest mistake, and Manny had seemed to enjoy the whole thing. But it made small talk awkward.  
Still, he did his best. The weather. The radio. So, how bout that Legion, huh?

As they talked, Manny kept glancing past him, at the pair in the corner in their stupid matching red berets.

“You know that guy?" Chris said finally, pulling a face.

“Used to," Manny shrugged. “He used to be be my best friend. Then he decided that I did something unpeakable.” He took a long swig of his drink. “And when it turned out I didn't, I guess it was just easier to keep hating me than admit he was wrong."

"That's rough.''

“Worse things have happened. You don't seem so keen on him yourself."

"Yeah, well..." after Manny's revelation, 'he's a fucking cock-block' didn't have the right ring to it. "He just rubs me the wrong way."

When the sunset began to paint the room red, Manny slid off his stool. “Duty calls.”

“I'll walk you over. I need to talk to Cliff Briscoe anyway,” Chris said, following him out and through the gates. 

“Oh yeah? You in the market for a toy dinosaur?”

He chuckled. He had actually bought one on his first day in Novac, because he felt sorry for the man. He had come to suspect that getting people to buy the dinosaurs out of pity was Cliff's primary business strategy. “No, I need to rent a room.”

“Good luck with that. Ava claimed the last one.” 

He stopped in his tracks. “Well, shit.” 

“I'll tell you what,” Manny searched his pockets and produced a small silver key. “It's not like I'll be using my room tonight.”

Chris's first impulse was to give it back to him. It seemed too intimate, too eager to please. But then the easy smile faded from Manny's face, and settled into a blank mask. He didn't have to turn around to know that behind him Ava was making her way up the stairs to her room, with Boone following. 

“Thanks,” he said with genuine feeling, slipping the key inside his sleeve. Maybe it was a little weird, but he could definitely empathise with being lonely. 

 

Chris prided himself on never making the same mistake twice. He was up and fully dressed by the time Manny let himself back into the motel room. 

“Good news,” he said. “I had a chat to Cliff Briscoe, and apparently Bruce is selling his room upstairs. Ava got him a job on the Strip.”

Chris shoved a hand in his pocket. At that moment he was wearing everything he owned and he counted... seventeen caps. “I'm not really in a position to buy at the moment.”

“Oh. Well, no problem. You're welcome to stay here any time you need to. Its nice not having to come back to an empty room.”

He didn't know how to respond to that. An awkward silence dragged on until Manny changed the subject. 

“Want a beer?”

“Its seven in the morning.”

Manny shrugged. “From my perspective its dinner time. Speaking of, are you hungry? I've got an extra brahmin steak.”

Within minutes the steaks were sizzling in the pan, and Manny really did pop open a beer. “It seems like every time Ava strolls into town, Novac gets a little smaller. First Jeannie May, then Boone. Now Bruce is leaving.”

“If she convinces Daisy Whitman to leave we'll be the only ones left in the building.”

“I could live with that.”

Was Manny flirting with him? He was focusing very intently on the steaks, with his back to the table, so Chris couldn't tell. He wasn't great at telling at the best of times. 

“Wait, who is Jeannie May?”

“Nobody,” Manny shot him a serious look over his shoulder. “And if anybody ever tries to tell you what happened to her, don't believe them. Nobody saw anything.”

 

After the Courier inexplicably bought out Cliff's entire stockpile of rocket souvenirs, he was more than happy to rent Chris the storeroom. Once they had manhandled out the Sunset Sarsaparilla machine (who puts a vending machine in a closet?) there was just enough room to convert it into a workshop. He hung out a shingle as a repairman, and while it was a far cry from working on a nuclear reactor or restoring a rocketship, the work was steady and pleasant. 

Ava quickly turned into his favourite customer. Mostly due to her willingness to plop a thousand caps down on his counter without flickering an eyelid. Partially due to the fascinating array of energy weapons she brought in, and the bizarre and unique ways she managed to damage them.

(“Have you been using this laser rifle as a melee weapon?” 

“I ran out of microfusion cells, and a Deathclaw came out of nowhere. What would you have done?”

“ _Run away._ ”

And then she had laughed, like he was joking.) 

And maybe a tiny bit because every time she and Boone rolled into town it meant that he would have an excuse to crash at Manny's. They had developed a little routine, sharing a drink in the late afternoon, going their separate ways and then rendezvousing for breakfast/dinner in the morning. If they were sleeping together in between, it would have been the longest and most successful relationship of Chris' life. 

Otherwise they saw little of each other, even though they worked in the same building. He had usually returned to 'his' room by the time Manny mounted the steps to begin his night shift, and was firmly ensconced in the workshop by the time he came back down. 

As time went by, Ava's visits to town grew further and further apart, and the rumours of her exploits grew wilder and wilder. And when word began to spread that she had taken up residence in the fabled Lucky 38, Chris accepted that he wouldn't see her again. 

Still, when the little bell above his workshop door jingled, he found himself hoping it would be her. Instead it was Manny, bearing an all too familiar pistol. 

“I was hoping you could take a look at this for me. She just plain won't fire,” he said nervously, laying it down on the workbench.

Chris gave it a cursory inspection. “Well, I think I see the problem. You've removed the firing pin.”

Manny shot him that smile. “So you can fix it?”

“Well, if you give me back the firing pin I could certainly reinsert it for you.”

“Wonderful,” Manny produced it from his back pocket with a flourish. “Let me buy you a drink to celebrate.” 

Chris followed him out, shaking his head. 

Shortly after his second drink, Chris decided that today was the day he was going to kiss him. 

But after his third drink he began to panic. Manny had never actually come right out and said that he was gay. Sure, Chris was 99% certain, but that remaining 1% was a big risk. 

While drinking his fourth drink he considered the fact that Manny was ex-NCR. Those guys weren't well known for their open mindedness. He wasn't just risking rejection, he was risking Manny flipping out and breaking his nose. 

He downed a fifth and sixth while weighing up the evidence. 

First there was the Boone thing. There was a big tick in the gay column. 

And the way that he would look upset for a fraction of a second any time Chris expressed an interest in women. 

Plus he had clearly damaged his own gun so he would have an excuse to talk to him. That went several steps beyond wanting to be friends.

So it was decided. Manny was gay and he was going to kiss him. He had a seventh drink to celebrate. 

And an eighth for courage.

And a ninth to keep the others company. 

He slammed the glass from his tenth drink onto the bar, squared his shoulders and turned purposefully to face his friend. As he leaned forward the room began to spin. 

He woke up feeling like he had been kicked to death. Repeatedly. 

“Morning,” Daisy Whitman said, looking up from her magazine. She was seated in a chair very close to the bed, apparently on watch to prevent him from choking on his own stupidity. 

“Where the hell am I?” he groaned.

“Manny's room. We couldn't get you up the stairs.”

“What happened?”

“My understanding is that you tried to match a Great Khan drink for drink.”

“Is Manny OK?”

Her laugh split his head open. “Manny? Manny left for his shift as sober as the day he was born. A fascinating people, the Khans.” 

Chris slapped a hand over his eyes. “Oh god. He must think I'm an idiot.”

“Actually, I think he was impressed. And I'll tell you what. If he isn't interested anymore, I'll set you up with my son. He's a doctor.”

He rolled over, and immediately regretted it. As he emptied the last of his dutch courage into the bucket Daisy had left by the bed, he reflected that it wasn't a total waste. 

Daisy had definitely just implied that Manny liked him. 

 

“Don't shoot, its just me,” Chris said, poking his head around the door to the dinosaur's mouth. 

“Don't worry, I only get paid to shoot in that direction,” Manny waved a hand toward the Mojave. 

He had brought a pair of ice cold Nuka-Colas, a wildly insufficient apology for making Manny carry his drunk ass home. It occurred to him that it was very unfair that he couldn't remember the experience. He imagined his arm draped across those broad shoulders, Manny's large hand flat against the small of his back to steady him, leaning heavily into the warmth of his chest... he sipped his drink, hoping it was dark enough to conceal the flush climbing his neck. 

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, staring out at the dark wasteland. Eventually Chris screwed his courage to the sticking place and cleared his throat.

“So, I've been thinking-”

“What the hell?” Manny interrupted, staring at something on the horizon. 

Chris's blood ran cold. “Legion?”

“No,” Manny muttered, staring through his scope. “What I wouldn't give for a decent spotlight. I think it's Boone.” 

“So? I know it's been a while, but they do technically live here.”

“No. It's just Boone.” 

Chris could see him now, trudging along the ruined road, wearing fancy new armour and his omnipresent scowl. His shoulders were hunched like he carried a heavy load, but he didn't have a pack on. He wanted to say something flip- it couldn't be that surprising that Ava had tired of his company. But the look of worry on Manny's face made him hold his tongue. 

Boone refused to talk to anyone in town except Manny, and even then he only wanted to discuss resuming his previous role on night shift. Alice McBride made a few attempts to get him to tell her what had happened, and was rewarded with a snarl. 

Eventually Ranger Andy told them that he had heard on the radio that a Forlorn Hope patrol found him lying unconscious in an abandoned bunker.

...

A few days later, Chris was using a pair of tweezers to dislodge a chunk of molerat from the firing mechanism of a .32 pistol when he realised that he was sick of this bullshit.

Not cleaning weapons. That he could cope with.

But dancing around Manny like they were a pair of nervous teenagers. He was Chris fucking Haversam. He was a certified genius. He had rebuilt a pre-war rocket. He was damn good looking, he still had a lot of his hair and every one of his original teeth. He had stood at the right hand of Jason Brightman. The Courier, the Messiah of the Wasteland, totally would have shagged him if that sniper hadn't gotten in the way. 

He sauntered outside and leaned against the warm plastic of the dinosaur, arms crossed. Soon enough he saw Boone exit his motel room and make his way over, his hands jammed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He went inside without acknowledging Chris was there. 

Moments later the door opened. 

“Evening,” Manny said, pausing on the steps to light a cigarette. 

“Evening. So, quick question,” Chris growled, taking a deep breath. “Do you like having sex with strangers?”

“What?” Manny choked on a mouthful of smoke. “No. I can't say that I do.”

“Well,” Chris grinned at him. “Then isn't it lucky that we know each other so well?”

Manny stared at him, his mouth hanging open. Chris braced himself for a punch in the face. 

“Oh God,” Manny said, dissolving into hysterical laughter. “Oh my God.” Within seconds he was the colour of the motel room doors, frantically wiping away tears. “Chris that is... that's worse than the time I saw a recruit... saw a recruit point at a Gommorrah waitress and yell 'You'll do!'” 

He actually doubled over, clutching at his stomach. 

“Right,” Chris said in a tiny voice. Well, it was worth a shot. And hey, there was always Daisy's son. A doctor was nothing to sneeze at. 

Still giggling, Manny walked down the stairs and started towards his room. When he was about five feet away, he looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming, or what?”

 

Above them a door creaked open and then slammed shut. 

“Huh. Ava's back,” Chris said, trying to unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers. 

“Mm-hmm,” Manny muttered against the skin of his neck. He took over, popping the buttons with a practised flick of the wrist. As he pulled it off he let his fingertips trail across Chris' bare back, leaving him shivering. 

There was a thump in the room above, and then the distinctive squeak of the bedsprings. 

“Guess she brought a friend.”

“Shhh,” Manny whispered, his moustache tickling as he kissed the back of his neck

_Oh God_. Ava's voice floated down.

He began to work on his belt, unbuckling it with one hand as the other slowly traced circles across his belly. Chris leaned back against him, feeling his growing excitement. 

_Oh God, yes!_

Once his pants were dealt with, the circles drifted lower. Chris held his breath as his fingertips moved further and further down... and then bypassed his groin entirely to stroke his upper thigh. 

“You impatient?” Manny asked when he sagged slightly.

“Just sick of waiting.”

“Fair enough,” Manny said, and gripped him so tightly that his breath caught. He pushed his hips back against Manny's in appreciation.

_Oh God, Boone!_

He felt Manny stiffen, and not in the good way. His strokes slowed and then stopped. 

“Seriously? You're going to get jealous now?” Chris hissed.

“It's not that,” he dropped a quick kiss onto his shoulder. “Its just that if I'm down here, and Boone is up there... who's in the dinosaur?”

Shit.

“Whats the worst that could happen?”

“We could all be enslaved by the Legion.”

He thought about it for a long time, then sighed. “Fine. Go.”

...

He woke up with his head beneath the pillows. Woke up wasn't really the right word, as he hadn't actually slept, thanks to Them Upstairs. It was more a case of deciding he wasn't going to bother trying to sleep anymore.

It wouldn't have been so bad, if not for their habit of going quiet just long enough for him to start to drift off, then starting up again. Six. Separate. Times. 

As far as he was concerned, the only way that was humanly possible was if there were actually four people up there, tagging in and out. 

...

The click of the door handle made Chris pull himself upright and swing his legs over the edge of the bed. Manny gave him a wan smile, looking as tired as he felt. He stopped to set his rifle down and kick off his boots by the door, and went to pull off his beret.

“Leave that on,” Chris said softly. 

Manny quirked an eyebrow at him, but complied. He crossed the room without hurrying, and it felt like an age until he was there before him, his fingers gripping his shoulders, their lips pressed together. He was gentler than he had expected, sliding his tongue tentatively against Chris' own like he expected that even now, when they had come so far, he would meet with resistance. 

“You look tired,” he said when they broke apart. 

“I am tired. We should get some sleep,” Chris replied, reaching for his belt buckle. 

“Oh, definitely,” Manny said, pulling his shirt off over his head. He readjusted the beret. 

Chris hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pulling both them and his trousers down in one smooth motion. Manny obligingly stepped out of them and kicked them away. 

Chris turned and, with as much dignity as he could muster, spat into the palm of his hand. He wrapped the other hand around the base of his penis, and gently stroked the underside with his thumb. He cupped the head in his lubricated hand and began to roll his hand around in swift, tight circles. With each rotation Manny's hips jerked like he was receiving an electric shock. 

When his breathing grew ragged and his fingers began to dig into his shoulder hard enough to leave bruises, Chris switched his attention to the shaft. Once he had established a good steady rhythm he looked up at Manny, tilting his head beseechingly. The other man leaned down to kiss him, more aggressively this time. Chris quickened his pace in response, which only made Manny kiss him more eagerly. They continued this game of one upmanship, harder, faster, stronger until Manny gave one last jerk of his hips and came with a groan that Chris hoped was loud enough to wake Them Upstairs. 

Manny pushed gently on his shoulders and he let himself fall backward onto the bed, Manny's weight above him. Of all the times he had found himself staring at the ceiling of Manny's motel room, this was definitely his favourite. 

...

Chris propped himself up on his elbow to inspect the broad expanse of Manny's chest. With the tip of a finger he traced a circle around a faded white scar just below his ribs. 

“My initiation,” Manny supplied helpfully. 

“And this one?” he skimmed his fingers down the length of a scar that puckered the skin of his left pec.

“My glorious NCR war wound.”

“Boulder City?”

“No, I tripped over my footlocker during basic training. Landed hard on the edge of Boone's bunk.” He grabbed the hand on his chest, lacing their fingers together. “Speaking of, I ran into Ava and Boone on my way home this morning.”

“Oh yeah? Did you shoot them both?” 

“See, I was going to. But then they made me an interesting offer. They're looking to sell Boone's room. They're trying to sell everything they can so they can buy supplies for the big one at Hoover Dam. They're willing to take next to nothing for it.”

“I told you before that I'm not in a position to buy my own room.”

“You're a liar.” Manny poked him gently in the shoulder. “You've been able to afford a room of your own for about six months now. You've been pretending you can't so you can stay here. Because you like me.”

Chris stared at him open mouthed. “If you've known that long, why didn't you say something?” 

“Because Ava told me that you'd just been through the worst break up in human history and if I tried to take advantage of you- wait let me quote verbatim, I thought this was quite good 'I will cut you from chin to groin and hang you from Dinky's mouth by your ankles.'”

Chris laughed. “Huh. I guess she and Boone are better matched than I thought.”

Manny gave him a confused look, but he declined to explain his meaning. 

“Anyway, I never said that you should buy it. I've been coveting that room ever since the day he chased Ava out of town. If I knock a door in there-” he pointed to the corner where he kept the computer, “then we'd have a pretty decently sized apartment.”

“We'd have an apartment?”

“Well, yeah. The both of us crammed in here isn't going to work, we'd be at each other's throats within a week.”

“You don't think that's moving a bit fast?”

Manny shrugged. “I just think we've waited long enough.”

He couldn't argue with that.


End file.
